MARCHDALE’S OFFER.—THE CONSULTATION AT BANNERWORTH HALL.—THE MORNING
OF THE DUEL.
Mr. Chillingworth was much annoyed to see Jack Pringle in the hall,
and Jack was somewhat surprised at seeing Mr. Chillingworth there at
that time in the rooming; they had but little time to indulge in their
mutual astonishment, for a servant came to announce that Sir Francis
Varney would see them both.
Without saying anything to the servant or each other, they ascended the
staircase, and were shown into the apartment where Sir Francis Varney
received them.
“Gentlemen,” said Sir Francis, in his usual bland tone, “you are
welcome.”
“Sir Francis,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I have come upon matters of
some importance; may I crave a separate audience?”
“And I too,” said Jack Pringle; “I come as the friend of Admiral Bell,
I want a private audience; but, stay, I don’t care a rope’s end who
knows who I am, or what I come about; say you are ready to name time
and place, and I’m as dumb as a figure-head; that is saying something,
at all events; and now I’m done.”
“Why, gentlemen,” said Sir Francis, with a quiet smile, “as you have
both come upon the same errand, and as there may arise a controversy
upon the point of precedence, you had better be both present, as I must
arrange this matter myself upon due inquiry.”
“I do not exactly understand this,” said Mr. Chillingworth; “do you,
Mr. Pringle? perhaps you can enlighten me?”
“If,” said Jack, “as how you came here upon the same errand as I, and I
as you, why we both come about fighting Sir Francis Varney.”
“Yes,” said Sir Francis; “what Mr. Pringle says, is, I believe correct
to a letter. I have a challenge from both your principals, and am
ready to give you both the satisfaction you desire, provided the first
encounter will permit me the honour of joining in the second. You, Mr.
Pringle, are aware of the chances of war?”
“I should say so,” said Jack, with a wink and a nod of a familiar
character. “I’ve seen a few of them.”
“Will you proceed to make the necessary agreement between you both,
gentlemen? My affection for the one equals fully the good will I bear
the other, and I cannot give a preference in so delicate a matter;
proceed gentlemen.”
Mr. Chillingworth looked at Jack, and Jack Pringle looked at Mr.
Chillingworth, and then the former said,—
“Well, the admiral means fighting, and I am come to settle
the necessaries; pray let me know what are your terms, Mr.
What-d’ye-call’em.”
“I am agreeable to anything that is at all reasonable—pistols, I
presume?”
“Sir Francis Varney,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I cannot consent to
carry on this office, unless you can appoint a friend who will settle
these matters with us—myself, at least.”
“And I too,” said Jack Pringle; “we don’t want to bear down an enemy.
Admiral Bell ain’t the man to do that, and if he were, I’m not the man
to back him in doing what isn’t fair or right; but he won’t do it.”
“But, gentlemen, this must not be; Mr. Henry Bannerworth must not be
disappointed, and Admiral Bell must not be disappointed. Moreover, I
have accepted the two cartels, and I am ready and willing to fight;—one
at a time, I presume?”
“Sir Francis, after what you have said, I must take upon myself, on the
part of Mr. Henry Bannerworth, to decline meeting you, if you cannot
name a friend with whom I can arrange this affair.”
“Ah!” said Jack Pringle, “that’s right enough. I recollect very well
when Jack Mizen fought Tom Foremast, they had their seconds. Admiral
Bell can’t do anything in the dark. No, no, d—e! all must be above
board.”
“Gentlemen,” said Sir Francis Varney, “you see the dilemma I am in.
Your principals have both challenged me. I am ready to fight any one,
or both of them, as the case may be. Distinctly understand that;
because it is a notion of theirs that I will not do so, or that I
shrink from them; but I am a stranger in this neighbourhood, and have
no one whom I could call upon to relinquish so much, as they run the
risk of doing by attending me to the field.”
“Then your acquaintances are no friends, d—e!” said Jack Pringle,
spitting through his teeth into the bars of a beautifully polished
grate. “I’d stick to anybody—the devil himself, leave alone a
vampyre—if so be as how I had been his friends and drunk grog from the
same can. They are a set of lubbers.”
“I have not been here long enough to form any such friendships, Mr.
Chillingworth; but can confidently rely upon your honour and that of
your principal, and will freely and fairly meet him.”
“But, Sir Francis, you forget the fact, in transacting, myself for Mr.
Bannerworth, and this person for Admiral Bell, we do much, and have our
own characters at stake; nay more, our lives and fortunes. These may
be small; but they are everything to us. Allow me to say, on my own
behalf, that I will not permit my principal to meet you unless you can
name a second, as is usual with gentlemen on such occasions.”
“I regret, while I declare to you my entire willingness to meet you,
that I cannot comply through utter inability to do so, with your
request. Let this go forth to the world as I have stated it, and
let it be an answer to any aspersions that may be uttered as to my
unwillingness to fight.”
There was a pause of some moments. Mr. Chillingworth was resolved that,
come of it what would, he would not permit Henry to fight, unless Sir
Francis Varney himself should appoint a friend, and then they could
meet upon equal terms.
Jack Pringle whistled, and spit, and chewed and turned his quid—hitched
up his trousers, and looked wistfully from one to the other, as he
said,—
“So then it’s likely to be no fight at all, Sir Francis what’s-o’-name?”
“It seems like it, Mr. Pringle,” replied Varney, with a meaning smile;
“unless you can be more complaisant towards myself, and kind towards
the admiral.”
“Why, not exactly that,” said Jack; “it’s a pity to stop a good play in
the beginning, just because some little thing is wrong in the tackling.”
“Perhaps your skill and genius may enable us to find some medium course
that we may pursue with pleasure and profit. What say you, Mr. Pringle?”
“All I know about genius, as you call it is the Flying Dutchman, or
some such odd out o’ the way fish. But, as I said, I am not one to
spoil sport, nor more is the admiral. Oh, no, we is all true men and
good.”
“I believe it,” said Varney, bowing politely.
“You needn’t keep your figure-head on the move; I can see you just as
well. Howsoever, as I was saying, I don’t like to spoil sport, and
sooner than both parties should be disappointed, my principal shall
become your second, Sir Francis.”
“What, Admiral Bell!” exclaimed Varney, lifting his eyebrows with
surprise.
“What, Charles Holland’s uncle!” exclaimed Mr. Chillingworth, in
accents of amazement.
“And why not?” said Jack, with great gravity. “I will pledge my
word—Jack Pringle’s word—that Admiral Bell shall be second to Sir
Francis Varney, during his scrimmage with Mr. Henry Bannerworth.
That will let the matter go on; there can be no back-out then, eh?”
continued Jack Pringle, with a knowing nod at Chillingworth as he spoke.
“That will, I hope, remove your scruples, Mr. Chillingworth,” said
Varney, with a courteous smile.
“But will Admiral Bell do this?”
“His second says so, and has, I daresay, influence enough with him to
induce that person to act in conformity with his promise.”
“In course he will. Do you think he would be the man to hang back? Oh,
no; he would be the last to leave Jack Pringle in the lurch—no. Depend
upon it, Sir Francis, he’ll be as sure to do what I say, as I have said
it.”
“After that assurance, I cannot doubt it,” said Sir Francis Varney;
“this act of kindness will, indeed, lay me under a deep and lasting
obligation to Admiral Bell, which I fear I shall never be able to pay.”
“You need not trouble yourself about that,” said Jack Pringle; “the
admiral will credit all, and you can pay off old scores when his turn
comes in the field.”
“I will not forget,” said Varney; “he deserves every consideration;
but now, Mr. Chillingworth, I presume that we may come to some
understanding respecting this meeting, which you were so kind as to do
me the honour of seeking.”
“I cannot object to its taking place. I shall be most happy to meet
your second in the field, and will arrange with him.”
“I imagine that, under the circumstances, that it will be barely
necessary to go to that length of ceremony. Future interviews can be
arranged later; name the time and place, and after that we can settle
all the rest on the ground.”
“Yes,” said Jack; “it will be time enough, surely, to see the admiral
when we are upon the ground. I’ll warrant the old buffer is a true
brick as ever was; there’s no flinching about him.”
“I am satisfied,” said Varney.
“And I also,” said Chillingworth; “but, understand, Sir Francis, any
default for seconds makes the meeting a blank.”
“I will not doubt Mr. Pringle’s honour so much as to believe it
possible.”
“I’m d—d,” said Jack, “if you ain’t a trump-card, and no mistake; it’s
a great pity as you is a wamphigher.”
“The time, Mr. Chillingworth?”
“To-morrow, at seven o’clock,” replied that gentleman.
“The place, sir?”
“The best place that I can think of is a level meadow half-way between
here and Bannerworth Hall; but that is your privilege, Sir Francis
Varney.”
“I waive it, and am much obliged to you for the choice of the spot; it
seems of the best character imaginable. I will be punctual.”
“I think we have nothing further to arrange now,” said Mr.
Chillingworth. “You will meet with Admiral Bell.”
“Certainly. I believe there is nothing more to be done; this affair is
very satisfactorily arranged, and much better than I anticipated.”
“Good morning, Sir Francis,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “Good morning.”
“Adieu,” said Sir Francis, with a courteous salutation. “Good day,
Mr. Pringle, and commend me to the admiral, whose services will be of
infinite value to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Jack; “the admiral’s the man as’d lend any
body a helping hand in case of distress like the present; and I’ll
pledge my word—Jack Pringle’s too, as that he’ll do what’s right, and
give up his turn to Mr. Henry Bannerworth; cause you see he can have
his turn arterwards, you know—it’s only waiting awhile.”
“That’s all,” said Sir Francis.
Jack Pringle made a sea bow and took his leave, as he followed Mr.
Chillingworth, and they both left the house together, to return to
Bannerworth Hall.
“Well,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I am glad that Sir Francis Varney
has got over the difficulty of having no seconds; for it would not be
proper or safe to meet a man without a friend for him.”
“It ain’t the right thing,” said Jack hitching up his trousers; “but I
was afeard as how he would back out, and that would be just the wrong
thing for the admiral; he’d go raving mad.”
They had got but very few paces from Sir Francis Varney’s house, when
they were joined by Marchdale.
“Ah,” he said, as he came up, “I see you have been to Sir Francis
Varney’s, if I may judge from the direction whence you’re coming, and
your proximity.”
“Yes, we have,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “I thought you had left these
parts?”
“I had intended to do so,” replied Marchdale; “but second thoughts are
sometimes best, you know.”
“Certainly.”
“I have so much friendship for the family at the hall, that
notwithstanding I am compelled to be absent from the mansion itself,
yet I cannot quit the neighbourhood while there are circumstances of
such a character hanging about them. I will remain, and see if there be
not something arising, in which I may be useful to them in some matter.”
“It is very disinterested of you; you will remain here for some time, I
suppose?”
“Yes, undoubtedly; unless, as I do not anticipate, I should see any
occasion to quit my present quarters.”
“I tell you what it is,” said Jack Pringle; “if you had been here
half-an-hour earlier you could have seconded the wamphigher.”
“Seconded!”
“Yes, we’re here to challenge.”
“A double challenge?”
“Yes; but in confiding this matter to you, Mr. Marchdale, you will make
no use of it to the exploding of this affair. By so doing you will
seriously damage the honour of Mr. Henry Bannerworth.”
“I will not, you may rely upon it; but Mr. Chillingworth, do I not see
you in the character of a second?”
“You do, sir.”
“To Mr. Henry?”
“The same, sir.”
“Have you reflected upon the probable consequences of such an act,
should any serious mischief occur?”
“What I have undertaken, Mr. Marchdale, I will go through with;
the consequences I have duly considered, and yet you see me in the
character of Mr. Henry Bannerworth’s friend.”
“I am happy to see you as such, and I do not think Henry could find a
worthier. But this is beside the question. What induced me to make the
remark was this,—had I been at the hall, you will admit that Henry
Bannerworth would have chosen myself, without any disparagement to you,
Mr. Chillingworth.”
“Well sir, what then?”
“Why I am a single man, I can live, reside and go any where; one
country will suit me as well as another. I shall suffer no loss, but as
for you, you will be ruined in every particular; for if you go in the
character of a second, you will not be excused; for all the penalties
incurred your profession of a surgeon will not excuse you.”
“I see all that, sir.”
“What I propose is, that you should accompany the parties to the field,
but in your own proper character of surgeon, and permit me to take that
of second to Mr. Bannerworth.”
“This cannot be done, unless by Mr. Henry Bannerworth’s consent,” said
Mr. Chillingworth.
“Then I will accompany you to Bannerworth Hall, and see Mr. Henry, whom
I will request to permit me to do what I have mentioned to you.”
Mr. Chillingworth could not but admit the reasonableness of this
proposal, and it was agreed they should return to Bannerworth Hall in
company.
Here they arrived in a very short time after, and entered together.
“And now,” said Mr. Chillingworth, “I will go and bring our two
principals, who will be as much astonished to find themselves engaged
in the same quarrel, as I was to find myself sent on a similar errand
to Sir Francis with our friend Mr. John Pringle.”
“Oh, not John—Jack Pringle, you mean,” said that individual.
Chillingworth now went in search of Henry, and sent him to the
apartment where Mr. Marchdale was with Jack Pringle, and then he found
the admiral waiting the return of Jack with impatience.
“Admiral!” he said, “I perceive you are unwell this morning.”
“Unwell be d—d,” said the admiral, starting up with surprise. “Who ever
heard that old Admiral Bell looked ill just afore he was going into
action? I say it’s a scandalous lie.”
“Admiral, admiral, I didn’t say you were ill; only you looked ill—a—a
little nervous, or so. Rather pale, eh? Is it not so?”
“Confound you, do you think I want to be physicked? I tell you, I have
not a little but a great inclination to give you a good keelhauling. I
don’t want a doctor just yet.”
“But it may not be so long, you know, admiral; but there is Jack
Pringle a-waiting you below. Will you go to him? There is a particular
reason; he has something to communicate from Sir Francis Varney, I
believe.”
The admiral gave a look of some amazement at Mr. Chillingworth, and
then he said, muttering to himself,—
“If Jack Pringle should have betrayed me—but, no; he could not do that,
he is too true. I’m sure of Jack; and how did that son of a gallipot
hint about the odd fish I sent Jack to?”
Filled with a dubious kind of belief which he had about something he
had heard of Jack Pringle, he entered the room, where he met Marchdale,
Jack Pringle, and Henry Bannerworth. Immediately afterwards, Mr.
Chillingworth entered the apartment.
“I have,” said he, “been to Sir Francis Varney, and there had an
interview with him, and with Mr. Pringle; when I found we were both
intent upon the same object, namely, an encounter with the knight by
our principals.”
“Eh?” said the admiral.
“What!” exclaimed Henry; “had he challenged you, admiral?”
“Challenged me!” exclaimed Admiral Bell, with a round oath.
“I—however—since it comes to this, I must admit I challenged him.”
“That’s what I did,” said Henry Bannerworth, after a moment’s thought;
“and I perceive we have both fallen into the same line of conduct.”
“That is the fact,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “Both Mr. Pringle and I
went there to settle the preliminaries, and we found an insurmountable
bar to any meeting taking place at all.”
“He wouldn’t fight, then?” exclaimed Henry. “I see it all now.”
“Not fight!” said Admiral Bell, with a sort of melancholy
disappointment. “D—n the cowardly rascal! Tell me, Jack Pringle, what
did the long horse-marine-looking slab say to it? He told me he would
fight. Why he ought to be made to stand sentry over the wind.”
“You challenged him in person, too, I suppose?” said Henry.
“Yes, confound him! I went there last night.”
“And I too.”
“It seems to me,” said Marchdale, “that this affair has been not
indiscretely conducted; but somewhat unusually and strangely, to say
the least of it.”
“You see,” said Chillingworth, “Sir Francis was willing to fight both
Henry and the admiral, as he told us.”
“Yes,” said Jack; “he told us he would fight us both, if so be as his
light was not doused in the first brush.”
“That was all that was wanted,” said the admiral.
“We could expect no more.”
“But then he desired to meet you without any second; but, of course, I
would not accede to this proposal. The responsibility was too great and
too unequally borne by the parties engaged in the rencontre.”
“Decidedly,” said Henry; “but it is unfortunate—very unfortunate.”
“Very,” said the admiral—“very. What a rascally thing it is there ain’t
another rogue in the country to keep him in countenance.”
“I thought it was a pity to spoil sport,” said Jack Pringle. “It was a
pity a good intention should be spoiled, and I promised the wamphigher
that if as how he would fight, you should second him, and you’d meet
him to do so.”
“Eh! who? I!” exclaimed the admiral in some perplexity.
“Yes; that is the truth,” said Mr. Chillingworth. “Mr. Pringle said you
would do so, and he then and there pledged his word that you should
meet him on the ground and second him.”
“Yes,” said Jack “You must do it. I knew you would not spoil sport, and
that there had better be a fight than no fight. I believe you’d sooner
see a scrimmage than none, and so it’s all arranged.”
“Very well,” said the admiral, “I only wish Mr. Henry Bannerworth had
been his second; I think I was entitled to the first meeting.”
“No,” said Jack, “you warn’t, for Mr. Chillingworth was there first;
first come first served, you know.”
“Well, well, I mustn’t grumble at another man’s luck; mine’ll come in
turn; but it had better be so than a disappointment altogether; I’ll be
second to this Sir Francis Varney; he shall have fair play, as I’m an
admiral; but, d—e he shall fight—yes, yes, he shall fight.”
“And to this conclusion I would come,” said Henry, “I wish him to
fight; now I will take care that he shall not have any opportunity of
putting me on one side quietly.”
“There is one thing,” observed Marchdale, “that I wished to propose.
After what has passed, I should not have returned, had I not some
presentiment that something was going forward in which I could be
useful to my friend.”
“Oh!” said the admiral, with a huge twist of his countenance.
“What I was about to say was this,—Mr. Chillingworth has much to lose
as he is situated, and I nothing as I am placed. I am chained down to
no spot of earth. I am above following a profession—my means, I mean,
place me above the necessity. Now, Henry, allow me to be your second
in this affair; allow Mr. Chillingworth to attend in his professional
capacity; he may be of service—of great service to one of the
principals; whereas, if he go in any other capacity, he will inevitably
have his own safety to consult.”
“That is most unquestionably true,” said Henry, “and, to my mind, the
best plan that can be proposed. What say you, Admiral Bell, will you
act with Mr. Marchdale in this affair?”
“Oh, I!—Yes—certainly—I don’t care. Mr. Marchdale is Mr. Marchdale, I
believe, and that’s all I care about. If we quarrel to-day, and have
anything to do to-morrow, in course, to-morrow I can put off my quarrel
for next day; it will keep,—that’s all I have to say at present.”
“Then this is a final arrangement?” said Mr. Chillingworth.
“It is.”
“But, Mr. Bannerworth, in resigning my character of second to Mr.
Marchdale, I only do so because it appears and seems to be the opinion
of all present that I can be much better employed in another capacity.”
“Certainly, Mr. Chillingworth; and I cannot but feel that I am under
the same obligations to you for the readiness and zeal with which you
have acted.”
“I have done what I have done,” said Chillingworth, “because I believed
it was my duty to do so.”
“Mr. Chillingworth has undoubtedly acted most friendly and efficiently
in this affair,” said Marchdale; “and he does not relinquish the part
for the purpose of escaping a friendly deed, but to perform one in
which he may act in a capacity that no one else can.”
“That is true,” said the admiral.
“And now,” said Chillingworth, “you are to meet to-morrow morning in
the meadow at the bottom of the valley, half way between here and Sir
Francis Varney’s house, at seven o’clock in the morning.”
More conversation passed among them, and it was agreed that they should
meet early the next morning, and that, of course, the affair should be
kept a secret.
Marchdale for that night should remain in the house, and the admiral
should appear as if little or nothing was the matter; and he and Jack
Pringle retired, to talk over in private all the arrangements.
Henry Bannerworth and Marchdale also retired, and Mr. Chillingworth,
after a time, retired, promising to be with them in time for the
meeting next morning.
Much of that day was spent by Henry Bannerworth in his own apartment,
in writing documents and letters of one kind and another; but at night
he had not finished, for he had been compelled to be about, and in
Flora’s presence, to prevent anything from being suspected.
Marchdale was much with him, and in secret examined the arms,
ammunition, and bullets, and saw all was right for the next morning;
and when he had done, he said,—
“Now, Henry, you must permit me to insist that you take some hours’
repose, else you will scarcely be as you ought to be.”
“Very good,” said Henry. “I have just finished, and can take your
advice.”
After many thoughts and reflections, Henry Bannerworth fell into a deep
sleep, and slept several hours in calmness and quietude, and at an
early hour he awoke, and saw Marchdale sitting by him.
“Is it time, Marchdale? I have not overslept myself, have I?”
“No; time enough—time enough,” said Marchdale. “I should have let you
sleep longer, but I should have awakened you in good time.”
It was now the grey light of morning, and Henry arose and began to
prepare for the encounter. Marchdale stole to Admiral Bell’s chamber,
but he and Jack Pringle were ready.
Few words were spoken, and those few were in a whisper, and the whole
party left the Hall in as noiseless a manner as possible. It was a mild
morning, and yet it was cold at that time of the morning, just as day
is beginning to dawn in the east. There was, however, ample time to
reach the rendezvous.
It was a curious party that which was now proceeding towards the spot
appointed for the duel, the result of which might have so important an
effect on the interests of those who were to be engaged in it.
It would be difficult for us to analyse the different and conflicting
emotions that filled the breasts of the various individuals composing
that party—the hopes and fears—the doubts and surmises that were given
utterance to; though we are compelled to acknowledge that though to
Henry, the character of the man he was going to meet in mortal fight
was of a most ambiguous and undefined nature, and though no one could
imagine the means he might be endowed with for protection against the
arms of man—Henry, as we said, strode firmly forward with unflinching
resolution. His heart was set on recovering the happiness of his
sister, and he would not falter.
So far, then, we may consider that at length proceedings of a hostile
character were so far clearly and fairly arranged between Henry
Bannerworth and that most mysterious being who certainly, from some
cause or another, had betrayed no inclination to meet an opponent in
that manner which is sanctioned, bad as it is, by the usages of society.
But whether his motive was one of cowardice or mercy, remained yet
to be seen. It might be that he feared himself receiving some mortal
injury, which would at once put a stop to that preternatural career
of existence which he affected to shudder at, and yet evidently took
considerable pains to prolong.
Upon the other hand, it is just possible that some consciousness of
invulnerability on his own part, or of great power to injure his
antagonist, might be the cause why he had held back so long from
fighting the duel, and placed so many obstacles in the way of the usual
necessary arrangements incidental to such occasions.
Now, however, there would seem to be no possible means of escape. Sir
Francis Varney must fight or fly, for he was surrounded by too many
opponents.
To be sure he might have appealed to the civil authorities to protect
him, and to sanction him in his refusal to commit what undoubtedly is
a legal offence; but then there cannot be a question that the whole of
the circumstances would come out, and meet the public eye—the result
of which would be, his acquisition of a reputation as unenviable as it
would be universal.
It had so happened, that the peculiar position of the Bannerworth
family kept their acquaintance within extremely narrow limits, and
greatly indisposed them to set themselves up as marks for peculiar
observation.
Once holding, as they had, a proud position in the county, and being
looked upon quite as magnates of the land, they did not now court the
prying eye of curiosity to look upon their poverty; but rather with
a gloomy melancholy they lived apart, and repelled the advances of
society by a cold reserve, which few could break through.
Had this family suffered in any noble cause, or had the misfortunes
which had come over them, and robbed their ancestral house of its
lustre, been an unavoidable dispensation of providence, they would
have borne the hard position with a different aspect; but it must be
remembered, that to the faults, the vices, and the criminality of some
of their race, was to be attributed their present depressed state.
It has been seen during the progress of our tale, that its action has
been tolerably confined to Bannerworth Hall, its adjacent meadows,
and the seat of Sir Francis Varney; the only person at any distance,
knowing anything of the circumstances, or feeling any interest in them,
being Mr. Chillingworth, the surgeon, who, from personal feeling, as
well as from professional habit, was not likely to make a family’s
affairs a subject of gossip.
A change, however, was at hand—a change of a most startling and
alarming character to Varney—one which he might expect, yet not be well
prepared for.
This period of serenity was to pass away, and he was to become most
alarmingly popular. We will not, however, anticipate, but proceed at
once to detail as briefly as may be the hostile meeting.
It would appear that Varney, now that he had once consented to the
definitive arrangements of a duel, shrunk not in any way from carrying
them out, nor in the slightest attempted to retard arrangements which
might be fatal to himself.
The early morning was one of those cloudy ones so frequently occurring
in our fickle climate, when the cleverest weather prophet would find it
difficult to predict what the next hour might produce.
There was a kind of dim gloominess over all objects; and as there were
no bright lights, there were no deep shadows—the consequence of which
was a sureness of effect over the landscape, that robbed it of many of
its usual beauties.
Such was the state of things when Marchdale accompanied Henry and
Admiral Bell from Bannerworth Hall across the garden in the direction
of the hilly wood, close to which was the spot intended for the scene
of encounter.
Jack Pringle came on at a lazy pace behind with his hands in his
pockets, and looking as unconcerned as if he had just come out for a
morning’s stroll, and scarcely knew whether he saw what was going on or
not.
The curious contortion into which he twisted his countenance, and the
different odd-looking lumps that appeared in it from time to time,
may be accounted for by a quid of unusual size, which he seemed to
be masticating with a relish quite horrifying to one unused to so
barbarous a luxury.
The admiral had strictly enjoined him not to interfere on pain of
being considered a lubber and no seaman for the remainder of his
existence—threatened penalties which, of course, had their own weight
with Jack, and accordingly he came just to see the row in as quiet a
way as possible, perhaps not without a hope, that something might turn
up in the shape of a _causus belli_, that might justify him in adopting
a threatening attitude towards somebody.
“Now, Master Henry,” said the admiral, “none of your palaver to me as
we go along, recollect I don’t belong to your party, you know. I’ve
stood friend to two or three fellows in my time; but if anybody had
said to me, ‘Admiral Bell, the next time you go out on a quiet little
shooting party, it will be as second to a vampyre,’ I’d have said
‘you’re a liar’ Howsomever, d—me, here you goes, and what I mean to
say is this, Mr Henry, that I’d second even a Frenchman rather than he
shouldn’t fight when he’s asked.”
“That’s liberal of you,” said Henry, “at all events.”
“I believe you it is,” said the admiral, “so mind if you don’t hit him,
I’m not a-going to tell you how—all you’ve got to do is, to fire low;
but that’s no business of mine. Shiver my timbers, I oughtn’t to tell
you, but d—n you, hit him if you can.”
“Admiral,” said Henry, “I can hardly think you are even preserving a
neutrality in the matter, putting aside my own partisanship as regards
your own man.”
“Oh! hang him. I’m not going to let him creep out of the thing on such
a shabby pretence, I can tell you. I rather think I ought to have gone
to his house this morning; only, as I said I never would cross his
threshold again, I won’t.”
“I wonder if he’ll come,” said Mr. Marchdale to Henry. “After all, you
know he may take to flight, and shun an encounter which, it is evident,
he has entered into but tardily.”
“I hope not,” said Henry, “and yet I must own that your supposition has
several times crossed my mind. If, however, he do not meet me, he never
can appear at all in the country, and we should, at least, be rid of
him, and all his troublesome importunities concerning the Hall. I would
not allow that man, on any account, to cross the threshold of my house,
as its tenant or its owner.”
“Why, it ain’t usual,” said the admiral, “to let ones house to two
people at once, unless you seem quite to forget that I’ve taken yours.
I may as well remind you of it.”
“Hurra!” said Jack Pringle, at this moment.
“What’s the matter with you? Who told you to hurra?”
“Enemy in the offing,” said Jack, “three or four pints to the sou-west.”
“So he is, by Jove! dodging about among the trees. Come, now, this
vampyre’s a decenter fellow than I thought him. He means, after all, to
let us have a pop at him.”
They had now reached so close to the spot, that Sir Francis Varney,
who, to all appearance, had been waiting, emerged from among the trees,
rolled up in his dismal-looking cloak, and, if possible, looking longer
and thinner than ever he had looked before.
His face wore a singular cadaverous-looking aspect. His very lips were
white and there was a curious, pinkish-looking circle round each of
his eyes, that imparted to his whole countenance a most uninviting
appearance. He turned his eyes from one to the other of those who were
advancing towards him, until he saw the admiral, upon which he gave
such a grim and horrible smile, that the old man exclaimed,—
“I say, Jack, you lubber, there’s a face for a figure-head.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Did you ever see such a d—d grin as that in your life, in any
latitude?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“You did you swab.”
“I should think so.”
“It’s a lie, and you know it.”
“Very good,” said Jack, “don’t you recollect when that ere iron bullet
walked over your head, leaving a nice little nick, all the way off
Bergen-ap-Zoom, that was the time—blessed if you didn’t give just such
a grin as that.”
“I didn’t, you rascal.”
“And I say you did.”
“Mutiny, by God!”
“Go to blazes!”
How far this contention might have gone, having now reached its
culminating point, had the admiral and Jack been alone, it is hard to
say; but as it was, Henry and Marchdale interfered, and so the quarrel
was patched up for the moment, in order to give place to more important
affairs.
Varney seemed to think, that after the smiling welcome he had given to
his second, he had done quite enough; for there he stood, tall, and
gaunt, and motionless, if we may except an occasional singular movement
of the mouth, and a clap together of his teeth, at times, which was
enough to make anybody jump to hear.
“For Heaven’s sake,” said Marchdale, “do not let us trifle at such a
moment as this. Mr. Pringle, you really had no business here.”
“Mr. who?” said Jack.
“Pringle, I believe, is your name?” returned Marchdale.
“It were; but blowed if ever I was called mister before.”
The admiral walked up to Sir Francis Varney, and gave him a nod that
looked much more like one of defiance than of salutation, to which the
vampyre replied by a low, courtly bow.
“Oh, bother!” muttered the old admiral. “If I was to double up my
backbone like that, I should never get it down straight again. Well,
all’s right; you’ve come; that’s all you could do, I suppose.”
“I am here,” said Varney, “and therefore it becomes a work of
supererogation to remark that I’ve come.”
“Oh! does it? I never bolted a dictionary, and, therefore, I don’t know
exactly what you mean.”
“Step aside with me a moment, Admiral Bell, and I will tell you what
you are to do with me after I am shot, if such should be my fate.”
“Do with you! D—d if I’ll do anything with you.”
“I don’t expect you will regret me; you will eat.”
“Eat!”
“Yes, and drink as usual, no doubt, notwithstanding being witness to
the decease of a fellow-creature.”
“Belay there; don’t call yourself a fellow-creature of mine; I ain’t a
vampyre.”
“But there’s no knowing what you may be; and now listen to my
instructions; for as you’re my second, you cannot very well refuse to
me a few friendly offices. Rain is falling. Step beneath this ancient
tree, and I will talk to you.”